


Miscommunication

by everywintersbreath



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Bickering, Identity Reveal, M/M, Serious Injuries, Supervillains, they've been keeping secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 00:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19415008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everywintersbreath/pseuds/everywintersbreath
Summary: TP just snorts, and then in a motion that sends Doyoung’s eyes flying wide open, starts to lift up the bottom of his mask. “I’ll show you my face, okay? Maybe you'll trust me a bit more if you can put a face to the name. Then you can let me take a look at your wounds, yeah?”His voice changes in pitch as the mask slides off, clearly having been using some sort of voice filtration within his suit just like Doyoung does. It’s not the voice that Doyoung notices though, not when he sees the jawline, not when he sees the eyes and the nose and the lips that he knows all too well.“Oh my god,” Doyoung whispers.





	Miscommunication

**Author's Note:**

> this idea forced its way into my brain so im indulging it

Being yanked by the throat into a rapidly closing portal to an unknown location by his mortal enemy was admittedly not something Doyoung expected to happen to himself today. 

Yet here they are, his mouth bitter with the taste of blood as his tongue runs over his teeth, satisfied when he finds them all still in his mouth. Dental surgery is expensive these days, and unlike the rest of his injuries, broken teeth aren’t something that Taeyong can just fix for him free of charge. Not that Doyoung even knows if he’ll see Taeyong again at this point, or Mark for that matter, or even his lovely boyfriend Yuta.

Rolling over, he tries not to wince at the way his suit presses into the new gashes in his flesh, spotting the supervillain who has been a thorn in his side for the past few years sprawled on the sand nearby. With quick movements, Doyoung tries to scramble upward to subdue him while he’s down, immediately failing with an agonized wail as his own broken wing is caught on the ground. 

The man whirls, his unassuming mask seeming to sneer at Doyoung’s plight despite its lack of expression. “And so the crow loses its ability to fly,” he remarks nasally, sounding just as weary as Doyoung feels. Biting his lip to stop himself from letting out another whine of pain, Doyoung temporarily ignores his comment, trying to drag himself into a sitting position more carefully this time. 

Takoyaki Prince, or TP (Toilet Paper, as Mark likes to delightfully call him), watches with keen eyes during the entire process, a factor which Doyoung does not ignore. “Stop looking at me,” he snarls bitterly. “You’re the one who got us into this mess.”

“Oh?” The other asks, sounding almost amused. “Are you upset? Do you feel inconvenienced right now? How sad. I must apologize, my dear crow!”

Grimacing, Doyoung finally manages to sit fully, unable to help the tiny gasp that he makes. “How can you not be upset in this situation? Neither of us knows where we are, let alone how to return to Seoul. You might not have anybody waiting for you at home, but I-,”

“Alright,” TP interrupts with a drawl. “You can stop there. No need to get all testy with me. I’m sure your tiny friend will come to rescue you soon anyway. Just make yourself comfortable."

Doyoung bites back a retort, looking around them. They appear to be on a beach of some sort, the sand charred behind them where the portal had sent them hurtling into the coast. There’s a grove of spindly trees ahead, which gives Doyoung hope for the existence of fresh water. If TP is going to just sit there and be obnoxious, he’ll have to get things done on his own. 

“Hold on,” the man cautions as Doyoung moves to stand, sounding oddly concerned. “Out of the two of us, you’re definitely in less of a position to go anywhere. Why don’t you let me-,”

Doyoung stands up, biting his lip to stop himself from screaming. “Is that concern I hear?” He asks mockingly, mimicking TP’s tone from earlier. “Are you worried? How touching.”

“Whatever,” the other murmurs, hesitantly settling back down. “It’s your funeral,” he says with a hint of finality. Doyoung takes it as a victory, stumbling his way toward the nearby trees. If he can't make it off this dumb island, he’s sure as hell going to outlive TP, and the way to do that is through hoarding his supplies early. 

-

In an unexpected turn of events, Doyoung ends up cooking for both of them, half-heartedly pretending to spit in the hollowed rock in which the stew is brewing and earning a dry laugh for his efforts. 

Everything hurts too badly for him to even respond to the other man’s little jabs during the meal, causing them to fall into an uncomfortable silence. Barely touching his own stew, Doyoung stares at the sun setting over the watery horizon, imagining Yuta eating instant noodles at home. The poor man would probably even find a way to burn them. Truly horrifying. 

“What’s on your mind?” TP asks curiously, seeming genuinely interested. He’s leaning back, appearing almost relaxed still. It’s infuriating. Doyoung looks over at him, truly looks over at him, at his stupid mask and stupid, stupid initials, and promptly bursts into tears. 

“Whoa, whoa, what? Hold on, don’t cry, wait-,”

Doyoung wails, dropping his makeshift chopsticks (a generous label for sure) onto the sand. “My boyfriend,” he blubbers. “He won’t have any dinner. I always make him dinner. He’ll eat instant noodles and get sick and it’ll be all my fault and he probably won’t sleep because he’ll be worried and I never even told him the truth and I’m going to die out here and never see him again and it’s all going to-,”

“Shut up!” TP cries, leaping around their weakly flickering fire to press a gloved hand over his mouth. “You sure are an overthinker, huh? I’m sure he trusts you. You might be my arch-enemy, but even I can see that you’re the responsible type.”

Resisting the urge to bite TP’s fingers, Doyoung sniffles. The other is actually being nice right now, as strange as it seems. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles into the man’s glove through several sniffles. “I’m just really high-strung. Everything hurts so much. I’m scared.”

TP peers at him impassively through the mask, and then he’s removing his arm, reaching it up carefully to lightly pat Doyoung’s shoulder. “It’s alright. I’m not going to hold this against you. Don’t worry, I won’t talk about this to anyone when we get back.”

“If we get back,” Doyoung corrects miserably, trying to collect himself. It’s nearly impossible when his body feels like it’s on fire and TP is looking at him like he actually matters, an action that contradicts everything Doyoung knows. “Nah,” he says finally. “We will get back. But you’re going to have to let me take a look at your wing.”

Doyoung recoils, afraid. What if this is all a trick? What if he's faking kindness right now to earn Doyoung's trust? Yet thinking about it, that doesn't really make sense either. The other should have had ample opportunities to kill him already if he had wanted to. Maybe he's actually being sincere.

TP just sighs, settling back onto his knees. “How about we just stop the whole enemies thing. I honestly have a lot of respect for you, always have. I know we have different methods, but I really think we could work together in the future. We don’t always have to fight.”

“Wow,” Doyoung murmurs. “I thought I was supposed to be the mature one.”

TP just snorts, and then in a motion that sends Doyoung’s eyes flying wide open, starts to lift up the bottom of his mask. “I’ll show you my face, okay? Maybe you'll trust me a bit more if you can put a face to the name. Then you can let me take a look at your wounds.”

His voice changes in pitch as the mask slides off, clearly having been using some sort of voice filtration within his suit just like Doyoung does. It’s not the voice that Doyoung notices though, not when he sees the jawline, sees the lips and the nose, then sees the eyes that he knows all too well.

“Oh my god,” Doyoung whispers. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.”

Yuta, his Yuta, his darling Yuta, smiles that bright-toothed grin that’s his trademark, tilting his head to the side. “What, am I more handsome than you expected? I get that a lot.”

“Oh my god,” Doyoung repeats. “Yuta.”

Immediately, his smile drops off of his face, replaced with furrowed brows and pursed lips. “We know each other? Who are you then? Come on, I took off my mask, you can take off yours.”

Doyoung doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to think. His mind is simultaneously almost completely blank and experiencing a whirlwind of thoughts. So it was Yuta all along. All those times that they had noticed each other’s bizarre injuries and shrugged them off, to think it had been the other’s doing. It was Yuta. Takoyaki Prince is Yuta. He should have known.

“Why are you silent?” Yuta asks, sounding concerned, his fingers coming to Doyoung’s mask and tentatively lifting at the bottom. Doyoung makes no moves to resist, seeing his own horror reflected in his boyfriend’s eyes as soon as the fabric leaves his face. “Doyoungie? What? How can…,”

They both stop, and then Doyoung crawls forward into Yuta’s lap, haphazardly slinging his arms around him. “Don’t hug me back,” he whispers. “You’ll crush my wing. I guess this is okay, though. Now I don’t have to worry about you at least.”

“Idiot,” Yuta murmurs back, reaching around to cradle the back of his neck instead. “Why wouldn’t you tell me this? Why didn’t I tell you anything? God, we’re both idiots. I guess we’re really dropping the whole enemies thing now, huh?”

Doyoung hums petulantly, separating after a moment to glare at Yuta. “I’m still really angry at you though. You better find a way to get us off of this island fast or I’m making you do the dishes for the next two months.”

“You should be mad at me for way more than that,” Yuta whispers, eyes looking glazed with something akin to guilt. “I’ll sentence myself to dishwasher duty for the whole damn year when we get back.”

“Or,” Doyoung murmurs, leaning in, “you could shut up and give me a nice massage and we could both go to sleep since the sun is already gone.”

**Author's Note:**

> sorry the ending is weak i just wanted to upload something it's been so hard for me to write anythng lately sssorry


End file.
